


Rosewater and Morning Glories

by Black_Flowers_Blossom (BlackSilkenRose)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, SHEITH - Freeform, Sappy Shiro, Soft Keith (Voltron), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vacation, post season 7/8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23211445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSilkenRose/pseuds/Black_Flowers_Blossom
Summary: The war is over, there is peace on Earth, and Shiro and Keith are beholden to no one. It is on one such day, when the passing of time comes and goes with the beatings of hearts, that Shiro lets himself be led away from responsibilities and weary work. Keith has something planned - a meaningful surprise - and Shiro is happy to be swept away in the gentle breeze of their journey, surrounded by the hinted scents of roses and wildflowers.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	Rosewater and Morning Glories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naarna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naarna/gifts).



> A very heartfelt thank you to @naarna for supporting me during this scary time and requesting some domestic Sheith fluff! I truly hope that this is something you'll enjoy - I myself have been dying to write some sappy Sheith and this fit the bill entirely!

The drive isn't a long one by the standards of journeys they've been on together. It's nothing like the years in space on the way back to Earth - arduous and heavy, filled with the tensions of two people who once but no longer know how to stand together - or the times they'd been stranded together planetside, waiting for rescue. Rather, there is a peacefulness in the waiting, the not knowing where they're headed and not particularly minding. Shiro is comfortable, there in the passenger seat, and Keith drives with the knowledge and determination that leaves him confident they're on the right route. Sand becomes fields, fields become trees, and as the light shifts from the blinding glow of mid morning to afternoon it is obscured in part by the canopy above them. Shiro doesn't wonder in which direction they've gone or where Keith may be taking them. His left hand is a fixture on Keith's thigh as he drives and his mind is the breeze that ruffles Keith's hair through the open windows. Shiro's heart is full, and it leaves him weightless.

It's an indiscernible amount of time later when Keith makes the right turn that takes them down a road less traveled, all gravel and crunching leaves, and Shiro realizes belatedly that it is a private drive. There are wildflowers growing haphazardly along the edges of the path, backed up against a swath of overgrown raspberry bushes. The scent in the air reminds Shiro of the vineyards in the town he'd grown up in, and the familiarity seeps into his bones like a warm embrace. This is not that place, he knows, but already it feels like home.

The trees break as they enter the roundabout denoting the end of their drive, a tiny loop before a picturesque cottage. It's small, a relic of an age where modest living had been seen as a virtue among excess, but its condition has been kept up immaculately. The door and windows have a storybook curve to them, mimicking the angle of the roof, and are each shuttered by trellises woven in rich blue and violet morning glories. 

"Come on," Keith says, reaching out his hand to lead Shiro from the car. He doesn't bother with their bags - Shiro assumes they'll return for them later. Instead, Keith tugs him along toward the side of the cottage, past the arch identifying the garden path and closer to his heart.

Shiro smells the water before he sees it, and it sure is a sight to behold. The house itself seems bigger for the large deck that grows out of the back of it, connecting to neat greenery before making way to the edge of a sizable lake. It's not the largest body of water Shiro's ever seen but the backdrop of mountains and trees - the peek of a trail and gazebo along the other side - is its own kind of magic. Shiro stares in awe, and Keith has to squeeze his hand to draw his attention to the private dock and canoe that he's been pointing at. There'll be time for that later, he tells him with the kind of soft look that he saves only for Shiro, and leads him up the back steps and plops him down in an Adirondack chair, facing the views.

Keith leaves him there for awhile with strict instructions not to move until he's returned. There's a glint of shy mischief in his eye, and Shiro remembers that there was more than one bag hidden in the back of their car that the other had told him not to worry about. Between the soft sounds of birds and the rustle of wind in the trees, Shiro can make out the crunching of gravel and the opening of the front door, and from there it's mostly tranquil quiet. Shiro waits, the sun moves, and after a span of time that has him drifting into a sort of conscious slumber, Keith returns with a plated meal. They eat, ankles twisting to connect them when their hands are otherwise occupied, and eventually Keith leads him back inside.

Shiro expects a grand tour - though there's only a couple of rooms to accompany the large open kitchen and living area. Instead, he's directed through the bedroom, where he's instructed to sit with closed eyes and once again wait. Shiro indulges the request, a smile quirking at his lips at the mysterious treatment, and before long there are hands on his shoulders, leading him through another door and signaling with a tap that he is now allowed to look.

The sight makes his heart stutter, but only until it's clear that he's not understanding something.

"Keith... what exactly am I looking at here?"

It's not an entirely foreign scene, though the details are some he can't quite place. The bathroom is the most ornate room in the cottage, he surmises, taking in the marble tiled floors and sleek fixtures. The spot he's been stopped at is in front of a large and luxurious claw foot tub, which in and of itself would be spectacular if not for the floor to ceiling glass window that opens up a phenomenal view of the lake. The combination is breathtaking, and it distracts momentarily from the most puzzling aspects of the sight in front of him.

A bath's been drawn - that much is clear - but it's the contents of said bath that Shiro takes a moment to consider. The light, steaming water is streaked with auburn shadows: a hint of hue swirling around like the beginnings of a watercolor. The surface of the water is riddled with small, cropped leaves, and upon closer inspection Shiro is able to discern that most of its contents are actually flowers, plucked just before a full bloom, and dried. There' are daisy-like poofs and rosebuds and petals, dancing and bobbing along the ebb and sway, and they fill the room with sweet scent of chamomile and rosewater.

The vanity sink is occupied by a heated kettle, set cozily on top of a rustic potholder and a tray with a set of dainty teacups just waiting to be filled. The last thing that Shiro spots before turning his attention and questioning back to Keith is his duffel, shoved into the corner, filled with glass jars containing what appears to be flowers and herbs.

"It's a tea bath." Keith says it with casualty, as if Shiro will know what he's talking about instinctively despite the fact that clearly, he does not. 

"Is this one of Lance's beauty routines?" 

Keith smiles, crinkles around his eyes. 

"It's not, but I'll have to tell him about it if he doesn't already know," he says genuinely, glowing with musing. "Actually, it's something my mother used to do for my father."

Shiro's breath catches at that, and like a compass finding its true North, his hand finds Keith. Keith doesn't look at him when he speaks, eyes trained on the trajectory of a rose petal as it spirals through the water. Still, his lips tug upward.

"The way she tells it, when my mother was courting my father, she was still also learning about Earth and its customs. Dad wasn't a really traditional guy, but there were still certain aspects of his heritage that he held in high regard, and it's something Mom noticed. Apparently, this was a kind of tradition she started between them after researching Korean history and culture. I guess this was something that the nobility indulged in, and she wanted to recreate that kind of show of affection for my father, who was working hard beside her." 

" _Keith_ ," Shiro says, and his voice is heavy. It holds the weight of all his feelings, tied to that name. "Did you make all this?" Keith shrugs, and looks up shyly though dark eyelashes. 

"Kind of? I didn't plant it, but Colleen's been letting me take care of her tea garden and teaching me how to prune and dry the flowers. The actual tea is a blend I came up with from her supply and cultivated myself, so yeah." 

Keith's gaze is tentative, but expectant. Shiro is trapped by it, imagining the early mornings spent collecting flowers and the bundles of plants that undoubtedly hung above the window frame of Keith's quarters, a secret from the rest of the world. He sees him grinding leaves with the aid of a mortar and pestle, carefully measuring and labeling them in the jars that are obscured by his bag. He thinks, and is filled with the warmth of the air in the room from the bath and the warmth of the heart that took care in making this for him.

"Is it alright? I wanted to do something on this trip to help you relax a bit." He hesitates, then adds with the hint of a pout, "You work yourself too hard, Shiro."

Shiro is at a loss for words, and torn between moving to tear off his clothes or kissing the look from the other's face. The latter urge wins out, and Keith laughs against his lips at the way he throws his weight into the gesture. Shiro kisses him and he hopes. He hopes with everything inside him that his love can be transferred through the sealing of lips, and from the way that Keith pulls at the back of his neck to draw him closer, Shiro is inclined to believe it.

The water is warm when he finally breaks away and does sink in, and with a contented sigh he watches as Keith retrieves the kettle, adding hotter water to the rest in small amounts. He sits by the edge, stirring in the new water with idle fingertips, and watches the way Shiro melts.

"Hold on," Keith shifts, disappearing into the other room only to return with a chair, which he places behind the head of the tub before settling into it. Shiro mumbles in question - Keith's out of his line of sight like this - but then warm hands are rubbing into the junctures between his neck and shoulders, and Shiro is reduced to nothing but incoherent bliss.

_I love you_ , he thinks he whispers as his eyes flutter to close, and the way Keith looks back at him says more than he ever could with words.

They stay like that, surrounded by steam and the smell of rose tea, watching as the sun begins its decent over the mountaintops. Shiro feels the tension he's grown too accustomed to not noticing fade with each pull of Keith's hand against his tired skin, and wonders what he could have possibly done in his life to deserve being loved in the way that he is. He drifts, and Keith catches his temple with a soft brush of lips in a whisper of a kiss.

Tomorrow, as they bob rhythmically from their spot on the center of the lake in the canoe, Shiro will braid the remaining flowers into Keith's hair, adding to it his own care and violet morning glories.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> If you're wondering how you can support me during quarantine, please check out [this](https://blackflowersblossom.tumblr.com/post/612840364520488960/emergency-commissions) post on my tumblr and share this story with your friends!


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